


Who Knows Where the Time Goes

by Eureka234



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Romance, Birthday Fluff, Cute Ending, F/M, Inquisitor Cullen Rutherford, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26317525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eureka234/pseuds/Eureka234
Summary: It's Samson's birthday and he hopes no one else in the Inquisition has found out about it.This takes place in the, "The Prophet just Isn't as Pretty" AU, but can be read standalone.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford & Raleigh Samson, Josephine Montilyet/Raleigh Samson, Male Hawke/Isabela
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Who Knows Where the Time Goes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Schattenriss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenriss/gifts).



> Schattenriss - I don't know if you remember this one-shot idea about Samson's birthday - according to my computer I drafted it in January of 2017. I finally finished it! Please enjoy.
> 
> This is a short story I wrote as part of, [_The Prophet just isn't as Pretty_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077811/chapters/16087750) . It doesn't contain any spoilers. I'm still drafting the ending arc of that fic, so hope this is nice entertainment in the meantime.
> 
> I reference two songs in this one shot - "Goodbye" by Mary Hopkin (1972) and the title is from "Who Knows where the Time Goes" by Sandy Denny (1974).

_Faith unlaced her corset, and pulled a magenta dress over her head. Even in the eerie shadows formed by closed curtains and lantern glow, he had never seen a colour that looked worse on her. She sat on a chair to slide on frilly socks._

_Samson snorted. “I thought it was a joke to you.”_

_“Partially,” Faith said with a demure smile, running her fingers along the decolletage to adjust how the dress was positioned. “I happen to take sexual requests very seriously.”_

_“You don’t have to for me,” Samson urged her, “This isn't work. Get work outta yer filthy head and put some fun into it.”_

_“If you say so, little man,” Faith said. She let her white knickers drop to the floor. “This is a craft I take great pride in.”_

_“If you say so,” Samson said. A grin crossed his features as she tied her dark hair in a magenta ribbon. “Do you feel like a real princess now, Faith?”_

_Faith merely took a deep breath and continued staring straight ahead. The split second before Samson asked what was wrong she said. “You are right. Try as I may, I cannot treat this like any request. I am a present for…” Her eyes descended to his lips. “you.”_

_“For me.”_

_Samson liked feeling special._

* * *

Light warmed Samson’s bed covers through the oversized balcony windows. He woke to the stirring of a woman beside him. It wasn’t Faith. He wasn’t in Darktown anymore. The room was too bright, comfortable and clean. In the Inquisition he couldn’t be so open about his sexual relationships, because of how it could reflect on the Inquisition’s reputation. 

Susanne, once a recruit, turned lover, and now back to a recruit again laid there. Idiot judgemental types looked down on her like she was a bug crawling up their legs. She was loyal and kind, even as red lyrium brought a tinge to her eyes. Her belly was partially visible as the sheets had scrunched up and twisted some time during sleep. There was an alertness to her as if she’d been awake for hours. 

“Ser Samson?” Susanne mumbled.

“Yes, Susanne?”

“It is almost lunchtime,” she remarked, “I don't understand why no one has come asking for you.”

“Neither,” Samson replied. He rolled so he was nearer to her. “You asked around?”

“No. I was enjoying resting with you.”

“T _hat's_ not very responsible,” Samson scolded her.

“I chose not to be responsible for this once, Ser,” Susanne said blankly.

Samson grinned. It was easier to tell when Susanne from the Gallows made a joke, but he’d learned to identify her efforts since red lyrium corruption. Even by his sleeping-in standards, mid-day was unusually late. 

He sat up. “Guess I better get dressed.”

* * *

When he left the room, wearing dark trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, he contemplated where to find the nearest advisor. The Inquisition allies were chatting and doing odd jobs around the main hall. Nothing new there. Susanne followed after him. They ate breakfast together - a rare occurrence - before parting ways. 

Samson wanted to visit Josephine next, but she had guests waiting outside her office. Leliana was more likely to be free. Plus, he felt like he needed to climb the stairs to wake up. When he reached the top, the Spymaster was leaning against one of the windows and looking over a paper with a quill between her fingers.

“Hey Leliana.”

“Ser Marcus.” She placed the paper down. “What brings you here?”

“Nothing,” he replied, “wondering why Cassandra didn't beat me up to get me out of bed.”

“She was occupied by someone more important than you,’ Leliana said with a smile, “Everyone is.”

“Whoever could be more important than me?” he gloated. He was joking. Just a little.

“Everyone is more interested in the Inquisitor,” she jeered.

“I really want to know why I have been forgotten about,” Samson said more seriously, “My withdrawal symptoms weren’t any worse than usual. Did Cullen have a secret meeting?”

“No,” Leliana answered, “if that were true, I wouldn’t be telling you about it.”

“I don't care,” Samson replied. He was starting to get irritated by Leliana's caginess. “Who will actually tell me what's going on?”

“I’d ask the Inquisitor,” Leliana said, looking absently out the window.

Samson worked very hard not to groan. Basically, he stomped up here for nothing, “I will, but you should get some work done, Spymaster.”

* * *

When he reached the bottom of the staircase he wondered if Cullen knew about his birthday and that was why the day was not going to its ordinary route of meetings and pain. 

He hadn't been keeping track of the time well. When managing lyrium withdrawal, the days and weeks blended into each other. 

_How ancient am I anyway?_ He thought absently. _Late thirties. Whatever._

On the inside, he was jaded enough to be Corypheus’s age, so the number meant nothing to him. 

_I can barely remember what day it is, so I doubt Cullen cares._

In spite of everything, Leliana said to talk to Cullen and if he was being honest with himself, that would be the easiest option. He was ready for Josephine’s cuteness to calm him first. He crossed the main hall and waited outside her office until another Inquisition member left.

When he entered the Ambassador was slightly taken aback. “Good afternoon, your Grace. You look troubled.”

“I’m not troubled, Lady Josephine,” Samson said, with a pleasant smile. “Is the Inquisitor free?”

“Not for another hour or so, your Grace,” Josephine said. “He has had meetings all morning.” 

“But it’s the afternoon now.” 

“Then you understand the problem,” Josephine said, with an uneasy smile. 

“Oh. Right.” Samson’s original tactic was to play stupid, so he stood still. 

“That reminds me.” She stood to her feet. “I think, now I have a free moment, it is a preferable time to take a break. Would you like to accompany me?”

_Company?_

_No, not of that sort, idiot._

“I'd love to, Lady Josephine.” 

Josephine encouraged him to walk beside her, and he was all too willing.

As they walked towards the staircase outside of the main hall, he realized he didn't really know where she usually went or did on her lunch breaks. He cleared his throat, though it seemed to make his voice sound worse when he opened it. “How was your morning?”

“Busy, but well.”

“Well. I mean - yeah, that’s good.”

Samson tried to stop himself talking. He had reached the point where he was so endeared to her it made him lose what little charming persona he could muster.

Josephine tittered. "I have made similar mistakes in front of wealthy guests."

"I won't tell the Inquisitor."

“Thank you.” 

At the bottom of the staircase they turned left toward the front gates of Skyhold. It was still sunny, with few clouds in the sky. It offset the bite of the wintry air. 

“Um…” he mumbled.

“Yes, Herald?”

 _Damn it! Don’t call me that!_ He wanted to snap, she was too lovely, and it made him confused. One glance at her earnest, glittering eyes and he conceded, _you can call me whatever you like, lovely Josephine._

The Ambassador must have seen the look on his face because she looked up at him, concerned. “How has your morning treated you?”

“Uh, I slept a lot,” Samson replied, awkwardly. _And Leliana was a self-righteous bitch._

They slowed under the archway that led to the vast stretch of grass down some stairs _._ They continued slightly awkward banter about whether the view from cliffs or balconies was more enjoyable.

“I know the most comfortable place to sit,” Josephine assured him. “It is not far.”

Eventually the scenery changed as they exited Skyhold entirely. Near the beginning of a forest revealed two long tables pushed together, covered in cloth, surrounded by chairs. A halla skin rug was also on the ground. Many people were seated on the chairs.

“How strange,” Josephine said blankly, lips pulling down in a frown.

Samson’s voice shuddered as he exhaled. “Is this for my birthday, Lady Josephine?”

The Ambassador faltered. “I did not know it was your birthday today, though that would explain the guests.” 

_Who the fuck threw a party for me?_ Samson wanted to very snarkily reply, _It was Cullen, wasn’t it? Bastard_. _I wanna go back to bed with Susanne, sleep and be on my own. Maybe I could talk to you in your office, Lady Josephine, but I don’t want to be here._

He held back expressing his thoughts with excruciating resolve. Fake crying was an option, to make a big scene until he was politely asked to leave. The look of Josephine stopped him. She was trying to help.

“I will happily investigate chaos with you, Lady Josephine,” he forced himself to say.

The tables contained some Inquisition members he got along with, and others he didn’t. Briefly waving, he moved to the side of the table with Varric, Dorian, Isabela and Hawke. A stomping of feet and the squeal of something came from behind him. 

"You’re trying to ruin your own birthday?” Sera complained, pulling on his coat. 

Samson tugged back. “Maybe I want to ruin it!”

“Yeah, so long as it’s fun ruining."

“Because my idea of fun is doing what I want on my own terms,” Samson growled. “No one wants me to have a good time. They are just forcing their ideas of what fun is onto me.”

Sera stepped back. “Pish, you're mad. Like I’ll kick your balls till they turn flat sorta angry. Scary, really.”

“Sorry, Sera,” Samson said. 

“Winning some games of cards will make him feel better, buttercup,” Varric said, already dealing out cards for Wicked Grace. “It usually does.” 

This did lift his spirits. The mixture of drinks and cards meant the conversation degraded into silliness quickly. 

"Are there any couples in the Inquisition besides Hawke and I, Lady Elegant with her man, and that Orlesian couple?" Isabela asked.

"Why do you think _we_ know?" Sera asked.

"I second that," Dorian said. 

"Yeah, Isabela, why would they?" Hawke demanded, turning to her. 

"I have to start somewhere looking for friends, don't I?" Isabela asked.

"I’m just saying I don't know anything about this, but I don't think it’s a good idea to hunt couples, for friendship or other purposes," Varric said, pouring himself more beer.

“I’ve learned Varric’s advice is most of the time worth following,” Samson said. “The other times it makes a good story.” 

"You make it sound terrible. My intentions are as innocent as always," Isabela said, with a beam around the table. "Whatever happens after a conversation is up to the Maker to predict and not me."

"That doesn't sound like consensus to me," Hawke said. "It's more a loss to Isabela. Taking all the couples in Skyhold out for a night of drinks will be an unachievable goal for her."

"Nothing is unachievable for me," Isabela proclaimed. 

"It is if no one is interested, Rivaini," Varric said. “Now we all want to know if the Herald had a speech lined up for his birthday.” 

“No,” Samson groaned.

“I will sing with him if he does,” Dorian said

"What present have you wanted all year?" Hawke asked.

Sera made a very suggestive motion with her hand, “Ruffles draped over his knees and -”

“ _Please don't wake me until late tomorrow comes,_ ” Samson sang out the first song that came to mind, one that used to make the rounds at the Hanged Man, “ _And I will not be late. Late today when it becomes tomorrow. I will leave to go away_.”

“Hey, it only sounds a little shite,” Sera remarked.

“You didn't give me any warning,” Dorian protested.

“I could probably do better,” Varric said, strolling over to the table, “and that's not an invitation to ask me.”

“You know we will, Loudmouth,” Samson said with a grin.

Varric could always make his day better. No question.

* * *

He tried to be sociable and got tired quickly. Fortunately, there were snacks, beer, pastries and sweets.

Josephine passed Samson a slice of cake, “Please thank Varric for the choice in cake. He thought it may be to your liking.” 

Samson grinned. The sticky, thin glaze over the top made it obvious. “Lemon cake.” 

The Hanged Man occasionally rotated which cakes were available, depending on which baker was on shift at the time. One regular appearance was lemon cake, which was a simple buttery lemon slice with a sugary topping. Sometimes simple was perfect. He ate it, warmed by the planning Varric had put in to get him this cake. 

Cullen showed his face eventually once he escaped his office, Cassandra by his side.

“You finally woke up,” she handed him a pendant, “A gift from Cullen and myself.”

He looked at the silver. It had a thin, linked chain with a carving of a turtle on it. It reminded him of the ocean and Josephine's family crest. He smiled. "Thank you."

Upon finishing the cake, he shifted to further down the table. Alphonse had been speaking with Cassandra and Josephine before, though now he was on his own, not touching his drink. 

"Good afternoon, Alphonse,” Samson said. “Missing Orlais after coming back here?”

"Returning to Orlais was like putting on socks I wore yesterday and haven't washed. I felt this slimy dirt… and self-disgust." He made a contemptuous expression. "Did you tire of Orlais?"

"Not looking at it, just… the people."

"I hate looking at it too. It is like a basket of my dirty clothes. I think, ‘do I really have to clean this? I would rather someone else did.’ What a mess!” Alphonse lifted his arms slightly before letting them fall back onto the table. “Yet, I feel responsible as it does belong to me."

He sipped the last of his drink. 

"If I had enough coin, I would pay for someone to clean after me," Samson said.

Alphonse leaned forward. "You must have plenty of coin here."

“I do. It’s just not always up to me what I do with it.” 

“ _Dommage_ ,” Alphonse muttered. “You do not look as though you’re thinking of something enjoyable.”

Samson peered up the tower of Skyhold. He didn’t want to sound like he was complaining on his birthday after being spoiled, though it was strange to not have Elizabeth’s banter to counter Alphonse.

He imagined Seeker Elizabeth promptly taking a spare glass and filling it to the brim and saying, “Happy birthday.”

She must have been invited but decided she didn’t want to go.

“It’s almost like… something’s missing,” Samson said, drearily. 

Alphonse looked to Skyhold too, as though expecting snowflakes to flutter down to the picnic rug. “I know precisely what you mean.” 

And maybe at that moment they were thinking the same. 

“Tis fortunate that I agreed to pretend to enjoy the festivities,” Morrigan said drily, as Keran was enjoying playing cards with Cullen, Seeker Evitt and Josephine.

 _We are not so different, witch,_ Samson thought. Spiting her was more fun, “It’s _my_ birthday. No one is allowed to sulk except me.”

“Why do you believe a celebration absolves you from common courtesy?” Morrigan tested with a grin.

 _I hate that you’re right,_ he thought, “Because I'm the Herald.”

“That is the real reason for this festivity,” Alphonse said, “so you can behave like an animal away from prying eyes.”

“I can bark to entertain, Alphonse,” Samson advised with a grin.

“I have no doubt about it,” Alphonse said with a smile. “I am certain the Inquisitor thought of this, as he has prepared somewhere for you to lie down.” He gestured to the picnic rug. 

Keran let out a half laugh and a howl.

“That sounds good, actually,” Samson admitted. 

“May your birthday make the ones of the previous year’s pale in comparison,” Morrigan drawled, raising her glass.

“To a more delightful birthday than the last,” Alphonse agreed. "This birthday can _im_ pale the others."

“Best wishes to you,” Seeker Evitt chimed in, “Keran and I found a stray dog the other day. Keran has been taking care of him, but you may assist too if you like.”

Samson grinned. He always liked dogs. “Thank you. What's the pup’s name, Keran?”

“Fangs,” Keran said, “He isn't scary, he just likes to pretend he is.”

“Then it is perfect for the Herald,” Morrigan responded. 

After thanking them for showing up for the party, he moved around the table to find another guest to catch up with. To his annoyance he found Leliana. 

“Go to the Chantry, sit over your ankles and confess to your unseen Maker how troublesome you were this morning,” he japed at her. 

“It is the afternoon,” Leliana remarked, “but, yes, I am sure the Maker has already granted my forgiveness.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I have confessed before Him many times on my knees. I have cleaned the floors and flattened out the rugs on my knees. But I’ll have to get hit by lightning before I ask for His forgiveness for irritating you.”

Samson smirked and showed her a spark of green from his palm, “That can be arranged.”

The Spymaster looked stern. “Forgive me, Herald, for being foolish.”

The former General was pleased. “Much appreciated, Spymaster.”

Then she grinned, “It is the least I could do on your birthday.”

Samson removed all expression from his face. Leliana was getting too happy for a birthday that wasn't even hers.

“You are unjust, and as corrupted as the taint, Lay Sister,” he derided.

Leliana leaned back slightly, and laughed, “And you are a terrible person.”

With no desire to engage Leliana on _that_ topic again, Samson stormed away. Nearby birds flew around in panic at the sound. But he still didn't want her to have the last word.

“THE MAKER DOESN'T LOVE YOU!” he roared. 

“The Maker does not judge, except for you,” Leliana called over the railing, sounding smug, “and especially not on anyone's birthday.”

And that was the end of that conversation. Now profoundly irritated by everything he reached Cullen and tugged on his sleeve. 

“Inquisitor, we need to chat.” 

“Of course,” Cullen agreed, moving away. Once they were distanced from the noise near some trees, he continued, “Is something the matter?” 

“Why did you have to organise a birthday party for me without asking?” He implored. “It’s nice and all, but we agreed that you were to include me on these decisions.” 

Cullen’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “You’re right, though I was not the one who organised it.” 

“What?” Samson snapped. “Everyone told me to ask you about it.” 

“Yes, I recalled when your birthday was, and told others on the War Council, because I wasn’t sure what to do for it,” Cullen admitted. “I said you wouldn’t want anything fancy, but maybe something small would still be appreciated. I took the authority on trying to celebrate somehow, I suppose.” 

“And?”

“And Josephine took the lead with organising the party,” Cullen finished. 

Samson’s heart stopped dead. Then it appeared to dive into his stomach and then rebound back into his throat. He blurted, “Lady _Josephine_ arranged it for me?” 

“Yes. I don’t care for parties. Why do you think I did this?” Cullen demanded. “Why does anyone think I have the time?” 

“Yeah,” Samson sighed. “You told everyone about my birthday.” 

“I apologise if you hate it, if it was all a waste,” Cullen said. 

_That’s not it,_ Samson thought. “It wasn’t. Thanks, brother, for thinking of me.” 

* * *

Next, he approached the table Josephine was sitting at. He hovered awkwardly to the side, waiting for a break in the conversation. When it didn’t happen, he cleared his throat. 

“Lady Josephine,” he began, as politely as he could, “May I please talk to you for a minute?” 

“Certainly, your Grace,” she said, with a smile. They moved closer to the Skyhold entrance near the bridge. The light breeze brushed some of Josephine’s hair into her face, but she promptly pushed them out of the way. 

Suddenly, he had no idea what he was going to say. “Um…” 

“Yes?” Josephine asked, appearing eager to assist. 

Samson glanced to the side and fiddled with the button of one of his leather gloves. “I was talking with the Inquisitor about… this picnic kinda thing, and…” He took a deep breath. “He told me you organised it, as a surprise for my birthday. Is that true?”

“Yes, it is true,” Josephine affirmed with a nod. “I thought you may like having most of the day to yourself for a change.”

“I.. did like that, I just...” He glanced to the snow, not sure how to explain what he meant without it coming across as insulting. 

Josephine’s smile faltered. “Please do not praise me needlessly if it wasn’t to your liking, your Grace.” 

“It’s not that,” Samson assured her. “Once I settled in it was enjoyable. Withdrawal and being under pressure just… makes me not like crowds."

“Of course. How foolish of me,” Josephine muttered to herself, shaking her head. 

Maybe he was looking at her too intensely, for she avoided his eye and looked nervous.

“I won't bite,” he assured her. “I haven't had my fangs clipped for a while, but I’m not cross at you. I wanted to thank you for putting so much planning and thought into this. It’s not what I’m used to for birthdays, but it was a nice change.” 

“That’s good to hear,” Josephine said. She stepped nearer. “How did you celebrate your birthday in your home city?”

Even when no one else could hear them, they spoke in a semi-formal manner, removing all hints to his true identity. 

“Err, in the Circle I went drinking. When I was out of the Circle, Faith cooked whatever I wanted. She's careful with coin every other time, so this was decency to her. And… that's all.”

It wasn't all. Faith would happily comply with his every desire, no matter how debauch, but sweetheart Josephine wouldn’t want to know that.

“Did you exchange gifts?” she prompted.

“She bought me presents sometimes,” Samson recollected. “Once she got me a coat.” He buried his hands in his jacket pockets. “It was a pretty thing. Stopped the rain from murderin’ me when I was out and asking strangers for coin.”

He suspected Josephine found his story surprising because she was smiling and looking embarrassed about it. 

“If I’m still around the Inquisition next year, would you like to plan my birthday with me?” He asked her, finally. “Especially when I’m not well I need to know what’s happening with my day so I can prepare myself - save my energy and everything.”

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, your Grace,” Josephine said with a smile. “I apologise for assuming a surprise party would be a good idea for you at the moment, but I am pleased you enjoyed yourself regardless.” 

“Great.” Samson was amazed, but comforted, that she apparently still wanted him around a year from now. “Discipline at its finest, Lady Josephine.”

“Diplomacy, your Grace,” Josephine replied with a grin.

He was struck with an idea.

“When’s your birthday, Josephine?” Samson asked, “if you want a present, I might die soon from Corypheus, so it's best you tell me now. I wouldn't want you to miss out.”

She laughed, “I certainly hope that is not the case.”

“You don't want anything?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

Josephine waited until she had stopped giggling before saying, “What I want most are.. not retrievable by a pile of gold.”

“Like what?”

“Time to spend with my family and friends... a guarantee of their good health... no work pressures.”

Samson was humbled she had shared this with him. “Those would be nice presents. Don't kick the bucket from overwork and you might have a little luck.”

“Thank you for the well wishes,” Josephine replied. 

“I think a sleep in and spending time with my friends - and you, Lady Josephine - is all I really needed for my birthday,” Samson said. “Thanks.” 


End file.
